Mary Bennet
by Jackie Bewelle
Summary: Mary Bennet has decided to go Ireland after being forsaken by the duplicitous Mr. Wilson. She is determined to escape the sadness of her predicament and build a new life, but will she remain alone, or will she dare to trust again and open her heart to love? This story is a sequel to Catherine Bennet.


I'm editing Catherine Bennet at the same time I'm writing this story, so slow going... I'll download one chapter per week.

**One**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman who has been forsaken by her lover must venture abroad to avoid the disgrace associated with her predicament. Such was the case with Mary Bennet, who only four months ago had been engaged to Mr. Thomas Wilson, the vicar at Adelaide Church in Newcastle. Originally thought to be a gentleman of character by the Bennet family, he changed into a man of no integrity when he tossed Mary aside in his pursuit of Maria Lucas, then married her without giving his former fiancé a backwards glance. Although it was circulated that Mary terminated their obligation, Mr. Wilson's speedy marriage to Maria hinted at her reason for doing so, and left her open to public scrutiny. She was already tired of the sympathetic glances tossed her way when she ventured into Meryton, which were tolerable when compared to her parents' unnatural conversation as soon as she returned home. There she had no choice but to focus on her mother's dismay and her father's weary countenance, implying they had once again been discussing her situation – a conversation which ended as soon as she walked up the drive, compelling her mother to say: "Oh, Mr. Bennet, what are we to do about her?"

Mr. Bennet had no answer to this question, and so he only smiled at Mary when she entered the house. He did what he could to lessen her grief, and his attempts to soothe her broken heart ranged from him offering her cups of tea to applauding her infrequent efforts to play the piano. But he was uncomfortable with this and he was always relieved to go to his library. He had never been good at comforting any of his daughters, and Mary didn't know how to respond to him. Their conversation was stilted, and every evening ended with Mrs. Bennet retiring early accompanied by a hail of tears, while father and daughter sat in front of the fire bounded by an uneasy silence. Mary was ready to go anywhere else, no matter what the circumstances involved.

Unfortunately, she didn't know what to do. There was little opportunity or money for her to travel, even though her eldest sisters graciously extended her invitations to visit them in Derbyshire.

"I want you to come to Brightmore," Jane urged on the day she departed Longbourn with Mr. Bingley and their daughter, Constance. Kitty was already married to Colonel Fitzwilliam and in Bath enjoying her first few weeks of married life, and it was time for Jane and Elizabeth to return to their own lives, with their husbands and children in tow.

"Or come to Pemberley," Elizabeth added. "Don't think you must stay here with Mamma and Pappa, for you'll go mad in no time. Come with us now and wait out the winter in Derbyshire. Some time away will help you regain your confidence and realize that all is not lost. Mr. Wilson treated you very ill, and you must recover from his infidelity. This will be easier to do in Derbyshire than here, where you will be reminded daily of his betrayal by our mother."

"I'm quite over it," Mary announced as she jerked her hand away. She adjusted her spectacles and sniffed with an air of dignity that bordered on resentment. "Mr. Wilson did nothing to me that I did not do to him first. It was I who ended our engagement, simply because he no longer suited me. Upon closer scrutiny I realized we would be unhappy as husband and wife. …Truly, I'm pleased with the outcome and I will be content at Longbourn with only our mother and father as company. We will be like three peas in a pod, and it will be more peaceful here than in a house overruled by weeping children and servants. I must decline your kind offers and I wish you both well on your journey home."

Jane and Elizabeth were not offended by Mary's refusal, and they eyed each other with grim resignation. Elizabeth returned to the sitting room with the intent of rescuing her children from her mother's embrace, whereas Jane rested a caring hand on Mary's arm. "You will always be welcome," she said before joining Elizabeth in the other room.

Mary followed suit and shook her head upon witnessing the scene before her. The sitting room was in chaos, and filled with family members and servants alike – none of them having any idea as how to pacify the babies or Mrs. Bennet. Mamma was upset over her daughters' departure and her lasting tears were causing the babies to howl when they should be calm, considering it was early morning and they had just been fed. She was prolonging the episode for a tedious amount of time, and it wasn't long before Mr. Darcy looked to his wife frantically and demanded: "Elizabeth, I would like us to leave NOW!"

Mr. Bingley nodded and he had one foot out the door when Mrs. Bennet's doleful crying stopped him from going any further. "Oh, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, I shall be sad to see you go! I will be lonely without my grandchildren, and I don't know when we shall meet again! You know how Mr. Bennet is about leaving Longbourn, and unless you are to visit us it will be a long time before we see each other. I daresay the babies will be walking by then, and I will have missed everything!"

Mr. Bennet rolled his eyes and he was about vex his wife when Elizabeth pronounced: "Mamma, Pappa won't object to you visiting us in Derbyshire, with or without him. Isn't that right, Father?" Her question was posed in a commanding tone, and Mr. Bennet did not dare to oppose her. Rather, he complied and the tension in the room diminished. Mrs. Bennet patted her eyes with her handkerchief, but her discontent remained, and it was necessary for her to use her smelling salts before Jane and Elizabeth could depart with their families. She, Mr. Bennet, and Mary were left alone then, and they contemplated the scattering dust behind the carriages in silence.

"Well, that's that," Mr. Bennet declared in a laconic manner when the carriages were completely out of sight. He went to his library and closed the door, causing Mrs. Bennet to tear again and sniffle into her handkerchief.

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" she bawled before Mrs. Hill helped her upstairs. She spent the rest of the day in her room mourning the loss of nearly all her grown children, while Mary sat alone in the parlor and contemplated her empty life.

Mary remained in this troubled state for many days afterwards, but she was glad not to be in Derbyshire with Jane and Elizabeth. She didn't want any company, especially that of happily married women, even if they were her own dear sisters. Her moral character wouldn't let her admit she was jealous of their circumstances; even so, she was easier when she did not have to gaze upon the contented lovers' faces and the serene dispositions of their offspring. Neither did she want to be put in a position to care for her nieces and nephew while their parents resumed their social obligations and unwittingly made her the doting, "spinster aunt". It was bad enough she was expected to tend to her parents in their elder years; to prove her usefulness by caring for her sister's children would only confirm her fate. Regardless of what everyone wanted to think, this Bennet daughter was unwilling to forsake her future to the "common good" just yet.

It wasn't that Mary expected to find someone to offer her another proposal of marriage. In fact, she was determined to give up on romantic love and renounce her faith in ever receiving it. Mr. Wilson's behavior taught her about love's fickleness and about her own shortcomings when it came to attaining it. The art of capturing a gentleman's heart was a game she did not like, and she was determined not to play it when she did not possess the tools to master the sport. Certainly, she possessed a good dowry that would appeal to any man bent on enjoying a comfortable life, but if that life was to be endured without affection, Mary could not settle for it. After watching Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty marry for love, she would not be content with anything less, even though her mother occasionally announced that her lack of beauty should make her grateful for any man's attention.

"There are plenty of single men in Meryton, you know, who would all be grateful to have you as a wife," Mrs. Bennet stated with resolve one night at dinner.

"Who do you mean, Mamma?" Mary asked dully.

"Why, there is Mr. Marshall, the blacksmith, whose wife Nellie passed away only a few months ago, leaving him with two young children to raise on his own. I understand he is having a difficult time managing things and surely he is desperate to marry by now. …And then we mustn't forget about Mr. Simpkins, the pig farmer, who has a lovely plot of land only a few miles away and the sweetest cottage I have ever seen. Oh, I know his rough edges need to be polished, but he is a pleasant fellow and I daresay he would be happy to marry you. You would have a home to call your own – one that might need sprucing up, but it will be satisfactory once you have applied a feminine touch. …And think of all the free bacon we would get, Mr. Bennet! My mouth is already watering at the thought of it!" Mrs. Bennet eyed Mary expectantly as if anticipating her daughter's joyful acceptance of either of these men, especially since she was not pretty enough to attract the likes of another Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, or Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Mr. Bennet wiped his chin and offered his wife a warning glance, but he didn't need to express his alarm since Mary articulated their joint outrage capably. "Mother! These are the best options you can suggest for me – a widow and a pig-farmer? I can't believe you are so desperate to see me wed that you would pass me off to a man still so much in grief over his wife's passing that I have yet to ask him how he is without him bursting into tears! And as for Mr. Simpkins, he is fifty-years old and I have never seen him in anything but a bloody apron. Indeed I don't think he's washed it for as long as I've known him! Upon my word, the smell of slop follows him wherever he goes. …Really, Mamma, is this all I'm worth to you, because I would rather be single for the rest of my life than marry either man. What right do they have to make a claim on me? I am the daughter of a gentleman, and even though I'm not the prettiest Bennet sister, I have a good dowry, a balanced character, and the ability to tolerate the irrational ramblings of anyone considering I have lived with five frivolous women for nearly all my life!"

"Well said, Mary!" Mr. Bennet resounded. He had come to esteem his middle daughter since she had ended her engagement with Mr. Wilson, a gentleman he did not like in that he reminded him too much of his cousin, Mr. Collins. Others would say her spirit had hardened since the event, and that her soft edges were now calloused and hoary, but Mr. Bennet noticed only the emergence of an indomitable lady who would not tolerate nonsense and was suspicious of everyone. She had become an unforgiving woman – more than capable of surviving the lonely life she would lead as a spinster. Mary would not have a man to take care of her, and so it was imperative she was able to look after herself.

Mrs. Bennet was still determined to make Mary submissive and feminine - far unlike the woman she was becoming, which would do nothing to endear her to a man. She slammed her hand on the table and would not abandon her case. "Mary Bennet, how can you say such a thing about the women in your family when you know we are only trying to help you find a husband? A woman's happiness in life is dependent on her making a suitable marriage, which is something I have impressed upon you since you were a girl. And if you will not believe me, you must refer to your beloved James Fordyce, for I believe it was him who said that God has placed women under the protection of men. …How are you to survive without a husband, child? What is to become of you? You will have a sorry life after your parents are dead and you are forced to depend upon the charity of your sisters. Mr. Marshall and Mr. Simpkins are not the greatest of men, but they are respectable and certainly decent enough for you!"

Mary glared at her mother with unreserved judgment. "Decent enough for me – pray, what are you trying to say? …Oh, don't answer because I know exactly what you're thinking. You believe that since I'm not as pretty as Jane, Elizabeth, Kitty, or even Lydia, that I should be willing to settle for any man, no matter what his station in life. …I say, why don't we go out to the road and wave down the next beggar and ask him if he is willing to marry me, because I daresay one man is just as good as another."

"Oh, Mary, how can you say such a thing?" Mrs. Bennet complained, but her words were lost on her daughter, who stormed out of the room and sought refuge in the garden. She went there often to escape Mamma's nonsense, and despite the cold weather she found peace amongst the bare branches and the abandoned flowerbeds. The bleakness of winter mirrored her inner despondency, and it commiserated with her as she coped with the loss of Mr. Wilson's affection. It was here that she released her sorrow and allowed her crying to be muffled by an understanding wind; otherwise, she kept her grief hidden and she didn't speak a word about Mr. Wilson's treachery to anyone.

Mr. Wilson's rejection of her happened more in deed than words, and his mounting disregard told her that he no longer loved her. All was well the previous summer when the happy couple arrived at Longbourn to prepare for their wedding, and Mr. Wilson was the most adoring companion. Mary was astonished to think she had secured the love of any man, and she nearly forgot that she wasn't the loveliest Bennet sister, and in her mind, unworthy of receiving the type of devotion as offered to her sisters.

But old habits die hard, and Mary's contentment beget fear, so that she was anxious to marry Mr. Wilson quickly before he took solace in a more beautiful lady's arms. And things were progressing splendidly until their first visit to Lucas Lodge, when Mr. Wilson was introduced to the charming Maria Lucas, who batted her eyelashes and smiled coyly, until he lost all sight of his plain Mary. He was unusually animated as he discussed every aspect of religious devotion with his pretty, blonde hostess, who nodded knowingly without understanding a single word of his discourse. Yet despite the lack of intelligent conversation, Mr. Wilson's eyes lingered on her exquisite blonde curls and fair skin for an inordinate amount of time, while Mary sat politely in the background, all but forgotten.

From that point on, Mary noticed subtle changes in Mr. Wilson's conduct. She didn't want to recognize the signs, but they became hard to ignore, especially when he started to venture to Lucas Lodge on his own, with the feeblest of excuses.

"I'm going shooting with Sir Lucas today," he would say, which was unusual when he disliked the past-time and wasn't any good at it. His every attempt to go shooting with Mr. Bennet failed miserably, and produced nothing more than frigid fingers and frosty toes, and so it was surprising that he wanted to engage in the sport on another man's estate.

"I will go with you and visit Maria and Mrs. Lucas," Mary would offer naively, but as the weather was changing for the worse, Mr. Wilson had a convenient excuse to keep her at Longbourn.

"Oh no, my dear, you must stay here and keep warm!" he claimed. "It's cold outside and I'm worried you'll catch your death! I will ride on horseback, and I insist that you stay here with your parents. And when I return, we will talk about our wedding some more. Indeed I can't wait until we're married."

As time progressed, the couple talked about their wedding less and less, and then it was mentioned no more. Mr. Wilson was guilty of spending too much time at Lucas Lodge, until Mrs. Bennet could no longer hold her tongue. "Mary, this is quite unacceptable and I demand that you go to Lucas Lodge and bring Mr. Wilson home now. I'm not the least bit comfortable with his behavior and I have no idea what he is doing there!"

"One can only guess," Mr. Bennet muttered from behind his newspaper, but that is all he said, lest his wife put him in the awkward position of fetching their errant guest.

"Mamma, what am I supposed to do - hitch him to the back of the carriage and drag him here?" Mary asked, hoping that her sarcasm would disguise her heartache.

"If you must," Mamma answered before giving her daughter another lecture on the art of alluring a man, so that Mr. Wilson would no longer be tempted to venture elsewhere when he could find every attraction at Longbourn.


End file.
